


All the Pieces Used to Fit

by WakeUpDreaming



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Emotional Sex, F/M, Panic Attacks, Physical communication, Post 2x24, References to Domestic Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, hangovers, real talk, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tequila isn't doing its job - Toby can't block out the ringing in his ears, the word "no" stuck in his head like a horrible song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scattered Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gets dark, so please heed above warnings.  
> Title from Marianas Trench's "Push", to which I wrote most of this fic.

The tequila swims in his brain, but instead of drowning out the “no” that will haunt the worst of his nightmares, it amplifies. Being alone isn’t a good thing right now, Toby knows it, but everyone else is gone. Sylvester’s at home with Ralph, Walter is on a romance mission to get his girl, Tim and Paige are on their way to Lake Tahoe, Cabe’s god knows where, and Happy -

Toby swigs more of the tequila, trying to drown himself out of the misery. He’s got no clue where Happy is right now, and it rips through him like a knife.

He half wishes they hadn’t gotten there in time, that the acid had done its job and he hadn’t had to hear the way Happy admitted she’d been lying to him all this time. It’s a thought he hasn’t had in years, something that hasn’t crawled into his mind like a slug since he’d met Walter and the team and finally felt like he had a family.

But it’s back, pervasive and consistent and leaving its little trails of doubt in its wake.

Toby steadies himself and pours the alcohol down his throat, trying to remember what it was like to be numb. He’d be okay with going back there if it’ll stop this.

He stumbles to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, aware at this point that he’s going to be sick as hell in the morning, but he kind of wants it, wants to feel something physical to block out his heart ache. This hurts worse than Amy. 

“After all she said about being honest,” he scoffs, trying to sum up some anger, something other than this void that’s settled in the base of his mind, dragging him down. “I thought,” his voice catches, and he feels it coming. After the day he’s had, he’s earned it, but it’s hard to trigger it, to bring it out when after so many years he’s pushed it away.

“I want her to come back,” he says brokenly. The world swims around him as he feels himself crumple, break into pieces as he slides down against the cabinets. “I want her to come back,” he repeats, and it’s like a mantra, like the only think he can hold onto right now. The tears pour like acid down his cheeks, rough and burning and none of the catharsis he’d been dreaming of. Sometime between standing and sitting the glass of water had fallen out of his hand, shattering on the floor.

His hands are shaking. His breathing is ragged, unstable.

“Great,” he gasps, trying to reach something to ground himself, “I’m drunk and having a panic attack, alone on the kitchen floor.” He sucks in another breath of air, feeling the world close in on him. “Living the dream, Curtis.” And then the world goes black, and the last thing he remembers is thinking that the floor feels cool against his cheek, and that if he never woke up he wouldn't be too heartbroken about it.

He wakes up with sun streaming on his face on the couch, a blanket thrown over him and a glass of water on the garage coffee table.

And then it hits him again like a wave, the memory that this is real, it happened.

Happy’s married. She rejected his proposal. And he’s not sure if the love of his life is ever walking back in.

He looks to the piano. It’s still covered in confetti.

Toby barely makes it to the trash can next to his desk before vomiting violently. It doesn’t make him feel better – if anything, he feels worse.

“How the fuck did I make it to the couch?” he mutters to himself, slumping against the side of his desk.

“You didn’t.”

And it’s the last voice he wants to hear right now.

Toby looks up slowly, but before he can confirm that he didn’t dream that up, that she’s actually sitting there and isn’t a tequila-induced hallucination, the urge to lose his stomach hits him, and he throws up in the trash can again, his entire body feeling the crushing weight of his grief.

“So I throw up at the sound of your voice now,” Toby says as he spits into the trash can. “That’s a nice thing to notice.” He wants to be angry, he does. He’s just so exhausted.

He turns to see Happy perched on top of her work bench. It might be his hungover mind mixing with his broken heart, but the way she’s sitting is like she could get up and leave at any moment. Like she could up and go at any time, leave him behind, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Toby wants to hate her. He wants to fight back, hit her with words that he doesn’t feel, shout things at her to make her feel the way he feels. But he knows – he KNOWS – that she’s as sick about this as he is. And that hurts him more.

Because if she knew this would hurt them, why didn’t she come to him for help?

Toby looks up at her again as he wipes his mouth, and deliberately doesn’t reach for the water on the table, even though it’s the only thing he can think about. He doesn’t want anything from her right now except for answers. His eyes lock on her as he sits on the couch, and realizes after the fact that the way he’s sitting, folding his legs underneath himself, directly mirrors Happy. He spreads out on the couch after realizing this.

“You going to run again?” he says. God, he wants to hold her.

She shakes her head.

“Are you,” he softens, because he can’t keep up anger when everything hurts so bad, he doesn’t have the energy, “are you going to talk to me about this?” The water is too tempting, and he reaches out, drinking it in one breath. He feels better, but only slightly.

Happy nods.

“Now?”

Happy hesitates, but then she slowly nods.

“In that case, I’m done talking,” Toby says. “Because I don’t owe you anything right now.” He knows he’s right – he’s done everything for her and she didn’t even tell him this one thing – but he doesn’t want to do it. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how grateful he was that she’s the one who saved him, that she risked her own life to tackle him out of the way. And, he realizes, he half wants to apologize for proposing the way he did, for not realizing that her hesitation was more than superficial. But he bites his tongue, tasting bile and broken promises. Toby gets up and walks to the kitchen sink, grabbing the toothbrush he keeps here for the nights they forget to go home, and busies himself as Happy thinks. 

He's brushed his teeth for at least five minutes before he looks over at her again. She’s completely silent, like she often is. She’s playing with something, not looking at him. So Toby takes a second to really get a look at her, take her in.

Happy’s got her hair up in the sloppiest ponytail he’s ever seen her in, wearing the same shirt and pants as the day before but no jacket, and her boots are half untied. She’s got dark circles under her eyes, her usually perfect makeup smudged across her eyelids, and, if he’s not mistaken, there’s some sort of grease smear across her cheek. If he had to guess, she’d been working on her motorcycle at home.

It’s another ten minutes of agonizing silence before she speaks. Toby cleans the kitchen counter in this time, puts away dishes, and makes it back to the couch before she talks again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Happy says, like the words are drawn out of her. “I was going to, I just…” She exhales. “I couldn’t figure out how.”

Toby raises an eyebrow and forces himself just to stare at her.

“I know,” she says quietly.

There’s another silence.

“Where did you go when you left?” Toby asks. And, because he can’t control his impulsivity, he adds, “To visit your hubby?”

Happy stares at him, jolting like she’d been slapped, and Toby immediately regrets saying it. “I saw my dad,” Happy says slowly, like she’s worried Toby’ll lash out further if she says the wrong thing.

Toby shifts. “And?” he prompts.

“And he told me,” she pauses, “he told me to come check on you, because when he lost my mom, he had nobody to take care of him.” She shrugs. “And he said that you’d be hurting like nobody could understand right now.” 

“He had that right,” Toby replies harshly.

"You were passed out on the floor and mumbling when I found you," Happy says, taking his words in. "You didn't even know what was happening." She looks horrified. "But you went to the couch and drank some water, and fell asleep again."

"What'd you do in that time?" Toby asks. "Look up ways to pawn off your old wedding ring?"

Happy starts, looking stung, but she doesn't fight him on it. "I made sure you were okay," she says quietly. "If I made this happen, I wanted," she pauses, "I wanted to do what I could to help. I'm sorry I did that to you," she chokes out. "I didn't - I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't," Toby replies. He winces, hating how he sounds like a petulant child arguing for the sake of being right. And he finally looks at her, feeling himself crumble. “Happy, I –”

“Don’t,” Happy says, holding a hand up. “Toby, please. I don’t…” She trails off, and Toby realizes she’s fighting tears. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

“Then don’t,” he repeats again, and he feels as broken as ever, “just tell me how to help.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Happy manages, and he hears the way her voice cracks.

Toby falls against the back of the couch, wincing when he smacks the back of his head against the hard frame. “Stop treating me like I’m an idiot who can’t understand,” he groans. He lifts his pounding head to look at her. “We’ve both been through hell.”

Happy has the audacity to scoff at him. “Okay.”

“Oh, no,” Toby says, shaking his finger at Happy like he’s some sort of elementary school teacher, “none of that bullshit. You think tonight was a cake walk for me? Happy, you’re the best thing in my life and you dropped the bomb on me that you’re somebody else’s wife.” He sits up straighter. “I got kidnapped 48 hours ago, only to get saved by the love of my fucking life, who then told me she was married. Right after I went down on one knee.” Happy opens her mouth, but Toby won’t let her interrupt. “Before that, I nearly froze to death to try and save your life, and before that, my fiancée cheated on me and I lost all my savings because of a stupid addiction I couldn’t give up until you got me through it. And don’t,” he drops his head into his hands, “get me started on the way I grew up. You didn’t have it easy, but neither did I, Happy. It’s not an excuse, not with us.”

When he looks up, she’s roughly rubbing at her cheeks, streaks of tears left behind. The grease smear grows. “It’s not,” Happy replies.

Toby’s unsure if she’s going to add anything else. So he waits until he’s certain she’s done. “So just tell me how to help.”

“I didn’t really mean to marry him,” Happy says.

Toby’s eye roll is so emphatic that he’s not sure his whole body didn’t roll along with them. “Oh, so the ‘I Do’ was an accident?” He scoffs. “This a Waking Up in Vegas sort of deal?”

Happy’s silent enough that Toby looks up at her, and gets worried. “Okay, bad joke,” Toby says, leaning forward. She’s so far away but so close at the same time. He knows that, just yesterday, he’d be in her space and she’d want him to be. She’d maybe lean against his shoulder, settle her hand on top of his.

Now he’s worried that looking at her is too much.

“We were really young,” she says quietly. “Just dropped out of high school together. We were both emancipated minors – only seventeen,” she stops, steadying her breath. “And he convinced me it was the only way to keep us safe, out of the system.” She plays with whatever’s in her hands. “If we had each other, I thought we’d be okay.” Her eyes stare vacantly ahead like she’s watching a movie play across her vision. “But he wasn’t – we weren’t good together.” There’s something in the way she says it that scares Toby, adds a new question he’s not sure he knows how to ask.

“What kind of not good?” Toby asks, and he nearly kicks himself when he realizes he’s not only mirroring her again, but he’s using her words.

Happy bites her lip. “I’m tough because of him,” she finally admits. “Seventeen year old Happy had to learn a lot to,” she trails off, “survive being married to him.” Toby feels another wave of nausea, but this one isn’t the tequila.

“And then he disappeared, a couple months into it.” She curls in on herself again. “I tried to find him. But I think,” she drops her head down again, and Toby can feel the waves of regret roll off her shoulders, “I think he didn’t want me to find him.” She wraps herself in her own arms, looking impossibly small. “Eventually I gave up, the year before I found Walter.” Her voice is quiet, pensive. “But I’m still married.”

Toby stares at her, letting it sink in. “You should have told me.”

She drops her head. “I know.”

“You should,” Toby says, standing, “have told me.”

She nods. “I know.” And when he looks at her, he watches her expression harden. “Except you didn’t give me a chance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I tried to tell you not to talk to me,” Happy says, and she gets up off of her perch, standing on the floor, feet planted firmly on the ground like she’s ready for a fight. “And you kept going, even though,” she looks up toward the ceiling. “Toby, I warned you. I told you I didn’t want to have that conversation, but then you had it anyway. And then you asked to marry you, and I couldn’t say yes.” Happy back at him, and Toby’s shocked to see her crying again. “I fucked up, okay?” she admits. “But you didn’t listen to me. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t, and that’s my fault.” The hardened expression softens. “I just needed you to listen. I don’t not want to marry you – I just can’t.”

Mark Collins’ words echo in his ears, and Toby stumbles, falling back against the couch. He sits down hard. “What?”

“I wanted to say yes,” Happy says, and it sounds like it’s a confession ripped from deep within her. “I would if I could.”

“Why did Mark Collins know you couldn’t marry me?” Toby says.

Happy blinks. “What?”

“Mark knew,” Toby says firmly. “Mark knew you couldn’t marry me.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “Mark was playing you. He doesn’t know anything.”

“He did, though,” Toby says, and he forces himself to relive that experience, to remember exactly how it happened. “When he found the ring,” the word sours in his mouth, “he said you can’t marry me.”

Happy frowns. “He couldn’t know, though.”

“He’s had years on his own,” Toby replies. “He could have done any kind of research, found something out.” He watches Happy’s response. “Did you ever tell him?”

“No!” Happy exclaims, looking offended. “I didn’t tell anybody.” She plays with the object in her hands again. “None of you knew.”

“You still should have –”

“I know!” Happy shouts. The words echo around the room until they settle. “I should have said something. But I didn’t.” She turns the object in her hands again. “I can’t fix that.”

“You can’t,” Toby confirms. It’s a quiet room for some time. “Can we fix us?” He looks up to see Happy staring at him.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” she mutters.

Toby looks at her. “Are you kidding me?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No, I–”

“Happy, that proposal wasn’t me screwing around!” Toby exclaims. And now, now he’s finally getting angry. Because she thinks what they had was so disposable to him that he’d give it up after this, that all his words and promises would dissolve once they were faced with a challenge. “I’m in this for the long haul. Fuck whoever you’re married to, okay? I’m livid and I’m hurt and I sort of feel like I’m dying, but if you told me this was over that’s when it would be unbearable.” He walks toward her, like he can’t help it. “If you want me to walk away, I will.” He stops in front of her, just far enough away that she could run if she wanted to. “But I’m going nowhere on my own.” Happy’s staring at him, disbelief in her eyes. “I’m so mad at this situation,” Toby confesses, “but I love you more than I can imagine. So I’m in if you are, but if this is over –”

Toby is the impulsive one on this team. He’s the one who does everything stupidly, the one who goes too far and moves too fast and makes decisions a split second before he’s thought them through. But this time it’s Happy who launches toward him and pulls him down into a kiss that’s bittersweet, some sort of promise mixed with a dreadful apology. Her hands hold him like she’s afraid he’ll break, and he pulls her close to prove it’s not going to happen. It’s the kiss he’s never wanted to taste, despair and grief mixed with lingering longing and the tiny hint of anger, but at least she’s in his arms again.

Her hands slide up the front of his shirt and he has to catch her wrists before she does something she doesn’t mean.

“Happy, hold on,” he says, gasping for air. His head is spinning, and it’s not because of his hangover. “Stop.”

Her arms go limp as she steps away, pulling her hands away and shoving them in her pockets.

“Hap, hold up,” Toby says, settling his hands on her shoulders. “Just think about it for a second. This isn’t helping anything. What can we do?”

“We can fuck off and forget about everything else,” Happy replies, and it’s so deadpan that Toby almost misses the fact that she’s not serious.

“Okay, get real time,” Toby says. “No more of the defensive bullshit – we’re beyond that.” She shrugs. “So, I know now,” he sighs. “That’s the first step. That means I can help do whatever you think we should do.” He runs his hands down her arms to take her hands.

Happy pulls her hands away, putting them back in her pockets. Toby tries not to be too stung by it. “I want to be with you,” she says quietly. “I just – I wasn’t ready for you to ask me to marry you, in front of everyone. After I told you I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Toby’s shoulders fall. “I didn’t know why you didn’t want –”

“You should have listened.” But she’s got no fight to her words. It’s matter of fact, definitive. And Toby knows it – he read her wrong. He thought it was hesitance or fear. But it was the knowledge that she couldn’t say yes that held her back. That doesn't change the fact that she could have told him ages ago.

“And you should have told me why you wouldn’t be able to say yes,” Toby says firmly. “We both screwed up here.”

Happy nods slowly. “I screwed up more,” she says, and Toby feels a little bad that her admission makes him feel that much better.

“I’d agree with that,” Toby says, “but I still – I still love you.” He no longer feels like vomiting at the sound of her voice, he notes in the back of his mind. “So if you’re willing to keep this up, I am.”

“I don’t want to keep hurting us,” Happy says, and it’s so feeble and un-Happy that it nearly breaks Toby’s heart.

“Then don’t,” he says softly.

Happy’s silence is agonizing as he waits for her answer. She’s broken his heart a thousand times tonight, but her answer determines whether he’ll be able to piece himself back together again. “I want to fix this.”

Toby smiles as she steps toward him, feeling whole for the first time since Happy told him no. “Me too.”

Happy communicates best by touch and feeling, which is why they end up on the garage couch, wrapped up in each other, before long. Even though she’s told him she wants to be fix them, he still worries that this is going to collapse on itself. But Happy’s actions and kisses tell him otherwise, a commitment in the form of connection that he can’t deny, and he doesn’t want anything more than to hold onto her, to convince her that any secrets she still holds in her heart are secrets he can handle hearing. They're slow and steady, this part of their relationship a rhythm that even the worst fight can't break, and she the one who asks for him in a whispered voice, like she can't say anything else.

He realizes when he’s inside her, when she’s sighing his name along with apologies that he swallows, that the problem wasn’t just that she had a secret – it was that she was so worried about his reaction that she wouldn’t tell him. He doesn’t know how to prove to her that any secret she holds is one he’s willing to bear as well, so he kisses her hard, trying to communicate in her language of touch. They don't need words right now, instead they fall into the pattern that they hold so well, and he's so in love with her that he wants to erase the past few hours and memorize who they are here and now, the way her fingers run along his arms and her lips press against his. But as much as they can lose themselves in this moment, it won't last forever. 

Toby's astonished at the sparks they still create, will always create. He’s mad at her, yes. But he’s not leaving until she kicks him out.

It’s not long before they’re spent and exhausted, satisfied in one way but painfully insatiable in another, and they’re on opposite sides of the couch as they pull on their clothes.

“We can never tell Walter about this,” Happy says, shooting Toby a hesitant smile as she pulls her jeans on over her legs. “He’d lose his mind.”

“Walter?” Toby replies. “Imagine Sylvester.”

They’re still not fixed. There are a lot of shattered pieces missing from their mosaic. But Toby thinks they could put it back together, thinks they could get to the point where who they are is whole and safe and stable again. It’s not today, it’s not tomorrow. But it will happen.

Happy offers him a smile that’s softer and less confident. “Toby, I –”

“Please don’t apologize again,” Toby practically begs. “I don’t want that anymore. I just want the two of us to figure out next steps. And apologizing won’t do that.”

Happy nods, tucking a lock of mussed hair behind her ear. Toby reminisces of a time when it was expected that he would do that. He reminds himself that it’ll come back soon, they just have to get through this. “We’re going to fix this,” Happy says, that steady resolve in her voice that Toby’s learned means that whatever she’s decided on will happen, no matter what anybody else says. “We will.”

He hasn’t forgiven her – that will take longer than one morning and a twenty minute physical connection – but it’ll come. And he still loves her. That’s something Toby knows will never change. “We will,” he agrees, and this time, when he reaches out to take her hand, she doesn’t pull away.


	2. Pick Up the Pieces

Happy’s asleep on the couch before much time passes, curled into a little ball. Toby rests his jacket over her shoulders when he sees her shiver. She looks calm, like she’s having good dreams while she sleeps.

Toby, on the other hand, is pacing frantically. There are few things he dislikes more than being out of control, and that’s this situation: he and Happy are wrecked right now, and he can’t fix it, can't fix them, no matter what he does. He’s out of ideas.

So he’s pacing.

He ends up ripping apart his desk, throwing half-finished notes away and cleaning up the mess of journals he’d promised Paige he’d organize, alphabetizing them by title in the bookshelf.

It takes him three hours, and he’s still alone, and Happy’s still asleep.

He bites the bullet and takes out the broom and dustpan to sweep up the confetti. He’s pulled back to that moment, when Happy dropped the news that she was already married. It hurts, a burning feeling in his chest that can’t be tamped down by anything. He wants to keep a piece of the confetti, wants to hold onto it to remember the feeling when he proposed. But he also knows that the excitement and hope from the proposal will always be soured by the way Happy responded.

He looks over to Happy and feels that burning feeling increase when there’s a tiny piece of confetti still in her hair.

“Get it together, Curtis,” Toby grumbles, gripping the broom handle with more force than necessary. “You’re working on it.” But he can’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if Happy put his ring on her finger, if they were at her place or his wrapped up in each other all night, if he’d woken her up with a kiss and the chocolate strawberries he’d made for her.

He sighs, feeling defeated as he leans against the piano. Apparently he’d never closed the thing last night, because he falls on the piano keys and makes a hell of a racket as he scrambles to get himself steady.

Happy sits up straight, her hair half falling out of her ponytail and her eyes wild. “The hell are you doing?” she asks, blinking at him.

“Sorry!” Toby replies. “Fell on the piano.” He grins. “Not the first time we’ve done that.”

And then it’s awkward, for just a second. Just long enough to make them realize how much has changed in less than twelve hours.

But then Happy smiles. “If that piano could talk, we’d be in trouble.” She looks exhausted, like the four hours of sleep did nothing for her. "Are we okay?" she asks in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Toby replies automatically. And he watches Happy’s eyes narrow. “I mean,” he sets down the broom and walks toward her. “We’re not completely there yet,” he admits. It’s not fair to them if he answers in an automated lie. They can’t hold anything back – he’s not holding anything back. That's how they got into this mess.

Toby sits down on the couch next to Happy, and she makes a move like she’s going to lean in but changes her mind. “But we’ll get there,” Toby assures her. “We’re going to be okay. Just – it’s not going to happen today.” He leans in and kisses her forehead, risking the affection, and is so startled when she leans in and buries her head in his chest that he falls over, landing on his back on the couch.

“Oops,” Happy mutters, and she tries to push herself up.

“No, it’s okay,” Toby says softly. Happy stills. “You can stay.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then relaxes. “Okay.” She rests her head on his chest and Toby wraps an arm around her shoulders. He wants to know what she’s thinking, why she wanted to pull away, but he should know by now that he’s not going to get all the answers from her at one time, maybe ever. It stings a little bit, the burning feeling in his chest coming back. He realizes that it went away the second Happy had woken up.

“We really are going to be okay, right?” Happy asks. She sounds absolutely terrified that the answer might be no, that they aren’t going to get back to where they were. She shifts to look at him. “Toby, I don’t want to lose you.”

Toby sighs. “I already told you,” Toby assures her, “I’m not going anywhere unless you kick me out. Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

She nods, not meeting his eyes. “But I’m scared I’m going to push away so much that I’m the one who loses you.”

“That’s a rather introspective comment from someone who claims to have a low EQ,” Toby says, smiling at her as he strokes her hair. “But I think,” he chooses his words carefully, “if we work at this, and we make sure we’re honest with each other, we’re going to be okay.”

Her next inhale is unsteady, and she goes still and silent.

“Are you okay, Happy?” Toby asks. “Hap?”

“I screw everything up,” she says, and Toby’s disturbed to figure out that she’s crying. He’s never seen her cry as much as she has the past 24 hours. “We haven’t even been together five months and I’m already ruining your life.”

Toby groans and sits up. It’s times like these that Happy’s smallness is clear, because it’s not even hard to sit up with her weight on his chest. She just goes with him, settling into his lap. “Stop that.”

Happy frowns as she looks up at him. “What?”

“I love you,” Toby says firmly. “We’ve been over this. You hurt me and broke my damn heart last night, yeah, but you’re not ruining my life. If you were, I’m not sure I could have fallen in love with you. Hey,” he steadies her with a hand on each of her shoulders. “It’s not fair to either of us when you do that. I’m with you because I want to be. We’ve got to work through a hell of a lot,” he pauses, “maybe two hells of a lot, but still. If you let your guilt complex and abandonment issues take over, you’re just going to make it harder for us to make it better.”

Happy manages a smile, and Toby hands her a tissue before she gets her makeup all over her face again. “I guess that’s why we call you doc, Doc,” she says, half laughing and half stifling tears.

“Harvard trained,” he replies, grinning at her.

Happy groans. “You know, I pulled that card yesterday,” she laughs, shaking her head. She finally looks something other than broken, and Toby didn’t realize how scared he was that he wouldn’t see a genuine smile until he saw it. “With the farmer? I actually pulled the Harvard card.”

“Crisis situation,” Toby says, waving it off. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”

Happy nods. “I was really worried about you,” she says quietly. “Really, really worried.”

“I’m okay now,” Toby says, hugging her. “I’m okay.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “You know I care about you, right?”

Toby shrugs. “I mean, you risked your life for me yesterday. I’ve got to guess that I’m a little important to you.”

“No,” Happy says, “I care about you, Toby. You’re,” she pauses. “You’re the most important person to me, okay?”

“I’m hearing you,” Toby says, because he doesn’t want to miss a thing like he did last night ever again. “You’re the most important person to me, too.”

She relaxes. “Okay, good,” she says. “Because I need you to know that.” She looks at him, a penetrating expression that makes Toby wonder if this is how other people feel when he analyzes them. “I need you to know that I’m – I want to be with you. I may be,” she chokes on the word, “married, but I don’t care about him. I care about you.”

Toby nods. “I know.”

“Good,” Happy says. “Because I would if I could.”

“Would what?” Toby asks, because he must have missed something.

Happy’s stare is paralyzing. “If I could,” she says firmly, “I would marry you.”

“Good to know,” Toby finally says after a few minutes of silence. Because she’s not the person who communicates with words – she speaks with actions and expressions, touch instead of talk. But she’s doing what Toby’s always dreamed of: speaking to Toby, telling him what she feels. She’s learning to communicate in the way Toby does. He appreciates the effort, but it feels bittersweet that this development had to happen with such a meltdown.

“I owe you so much,” she says quietly.

Toby doesn’t know what to say other than to agree.

They stay there, curled up together on the couch in silence, for long enough that Toby’s stomach starts to audibly growl.

“Kovelsky’s?” Happy asks, sounding groggy. If he had to guess, she'd fallen asleep.

He laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

They walk into that diner looking like hell – Toby still smells like tequila and Happy’s not doing so hot herself – but they sit in their usual booth, near the window.

A new waitress, someone young and sunny, comes up. They both order coffees and Happy gets pancakes instead of her usual omelet.

“Full of surprises today, Happy Quinn,” Toby says after putting in his order for waffles and two eggs.

Happy nods. “Got a bunch more up my sleeve,” she mutters. “I guess I should start from the beginning, right?”

“That’d be nice,” Toby replies. “What is the beginning?”

Happy shrugs. “Probably the day my dad dropped me off. They assumed I wouldn’t remember much of my old life, so they changed a lot about me.”

"Like what?" Toby prompts after nearly a minute of silence.

She shrugs. “They gave me another name that I used until I was eighteen.”

Toby’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Happy replies, laughing a little bit. “There’s two of me. Happy Quinn and Elizabeth Parks.”

Toby leans back in his seat. “Wow,” he says, “so Happy Quinn is your birth name, and –”

“The orphanage named me Elizabeth,” Happy explains. “I never really liked it – made everybody call me Liz – but I stuck with it, because it seemed less ridiculous than Happy.”

“Then why’d you go back to your birth name?” Toby asks, confused.

Happy bites her lip. “Because Elizabeth Parks is married,” Happy replies. “Happy Quinn was a no-name with no past. I brought back my old name as a cover, a way to keep myself safe when I ran.”

Toby nods slowly. “So by going back to your birth name,” he says, processing through it, “you were able to escape the husband, foster care. Everything.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Nobody who knew Elizabeth Parks could find Happy Quinn.”

Happy nods. “And that was important. Really important.”

Toby raises an eyebrow at the cryptic language. “Do tell.”

“We were boosting cars,” Happy says, stirring her coffee with her spoon. She added extra sugar today – Toby wonders why. “Which is really illegal.”

“No kidding,” Toby says, pouring what he knows Happy considers to be too much cream and too much sugar into his own mug of coffee.

Happy nods. “They liked me because I’d memorized every piece of every car they could throw at me – I could steal the cars without doing any damage, fix any problem, and then they could sell the cars for way more than what they were worth.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “But we were doing for – for people who weren’t great.”

Toby looks at her. “Meaning?”

“We might have been involved with a gang,” Happy mumbles.

Toby knows what she’s thinking – she expects him to yell at her about how stupid that is, how unsafe it is that she was involved in a life like that. But Toby understands. She was trying to find a family. Happy was trying to build for herself what she never had. “Okay,” Toby replies. “Were you still in school at this point?”

Happy’s expression is befuddled. “What, you’re not going to tell me how you can’t trust me anymore, how you don’t know how I could have done something like that?”

Toby smiles at her. After all this, he can still read her. “You were looking for a family,” he says quietly. “And if they made you feel safe and loved, and appreciated what you could do. That’s what was important at the time.” He reaches out and rests a hand on top of hers. “You were a kid. You needed to feel safe.”

Happy rolls her eyes as she turns her hand over, a tiny piece of public affection that warms Toby’s heart. “Stop knowing everything,” she says, a smile in her voice.

Toby lets the quiet chatter of the other diner patrons surround them for a minute. It’s Happy’s turn to talk, not his.

“We were emancipated minors,” she explains. She takes a long sip of coffee, looking thoughtful. “So we were viewed as adults by most people, by everybody, basically. We'd left high school when we were seventeen - just bailed, when we were allowed to. I think everybody else told us we should get married because we were so cute together, but I wasn’t completely convinced. But then there was this drive by shooting,” Happy runs her finger along the rim of the coffee cup, “and if Jeff hadn’t been there to tackle me, I would have gotten killed. That's when I realized - if nobody had my back, I wouldn't last." She sips her coffee. "We got married because we needed another way to stay safe.”

“Building a family,” Toby adds. “I get that.”

Happy takes another sip of her coffee. “But he got more involved,” she says, stirring her coffee again. “In the gang activity, I mean. We started fighting all the time about it,” her hand stills. “He was starting to get involved in turf wars, and that's when I realized just how bad it was about to get." She stares out the window for a few moments, just long enough that Toby's sure she's seeing other things. "When I told him I didn’t want to be part of it anymore, that’s when it got really bad.” She swallows. “Had to learn to defend myself – Jeff liked to throw things.” She curls up on herself, wrapping Toby’s jacket around her shoulders tightly. “When I told him I wanted out of more than just the gang, he – he got mad. That was the day I realized I needed to run.” She looks up at Toby, her eyes looking at events that were ancient history. “I was luckier than a lot of people. I had a way out.”

“Happy Quinn,” Toby says for her.

She nods. “Yeah. Happy Quinn.”

The waitress sets their meals on the table, and the two of them are quiet as they have their breakfast before Toby realizes something.

“You said he disappeared,” Toby says, frowning. “This morning. You said your husband disappeared, that you went looking for him.”

Happy nods.

“But you just said you ran,” Toby says, confused. He doesn’t want to believe that she’s lying again. It would shatter him.

Happy looks heartbroken. “I made it a week before I went back.”

Her voice is full of so much defeat that it breaks Toby’s heart. “You what?”

“I went back,” she repeats. “I didn’t – I didn’t like being alone. I couldn’t do it. So I went back to find him and the rest of our – our friends, I guess. They were gone.” She pulls the jacket tighter around her shoulders. “And then I felt like something bad must have happened. I started looking for them under the name Elizabeth Parks while working in a bar as Happy Quinn – I was trying to live two lives at once, and it just. It became too much.” She slumps against the booth. “So I had to make a choice: stay as Elizabeth Parks and keep looking for my husband, or leave her behind and turn into Happy Quinn. Start all over.”

“And you started over,” Toby says quietly.

Happy nods. “Glad I did, though,” she says, tracing patterns into the syrup left on the plate. “Otherwise I never would have met you, or Scorpion. You guys are the family I always hoped for.” She looks at him, the expression in her eyes something he’s only seen a few times. “You’re my family, Toby.”

The air around them is heavy with her words. Toby lets them linger in his ears, on his skin, lets them wrap around him like a blanket. She cares. He’s her family.

The silence is broken when Toby’s phone rings.

Happy laughs, and it only sounds partly forced. “You’re still using Kesha as your ringtone?”

“Yes,” Toby replies, pulling out his phone. “Tik Tok is a classic and I won’t hear otherwise.” He answers the phone.

“Where the hell are you?!” shouts Cabe into his ear. Toby winces, the hangover just bad enough to make that hurt more than it should.

“Kovelsky’s,” Toby replies. “With – with Happy.”

Cabe’s silent for a moment. “Really now?”

“Yeah,” Toby says. Happy’s looking at him with mild concern. “We’re good, Cabe.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cabe replies. “I’m at the garage.”

“Do we have a case?” Toby asks, whining only a little bit.

“Nah,” Cabe replies. “You guys work this out. I just came in to check up on you.”

“Thanks, Cabe,” Toby says quietly. He hangs up.

“Is everything okay?” Happy asks.

Toby nods. “Cabe was checking up on me. He was worried when he saw I wasn’t at the garage.”

Happy smiles, but she’s quiet.

“You okay?” Toby asks, and it feels like the millionth time that day that that question has been asked.

Happy nods. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about Elizabeth,” she says quietly.

They pay for their breakfast and head back to the garage, but Toby doesn’t want to leave her. Happy holds his hand during the drive back.

They walk into the garage slowly, without purpose, and Toby picks up his things that got scattered across the garage during his drunken temper tantrum last night. He’s moving deliberately, because he doesn’t want to face the fact that he might have to go home to an empty apartment in a few minutes.

And then, he can’t hold it back. “Hap, what are we –”

“Come home with me?” she interrupts, looking vulnerable and honest, like the request had to be ripped out of her.

Toby blinks. “Really?”

She nods. “I don’t want to be without you.”

Toby feels a smile on his lips despite himself. “Now you know how I felt in the blizzard.”

Happy’s expression is blank, unreadable for a moment, and then she walks toward Toby and hugs him tightly. He wonders if this will be the norm with them now – hugging like they’re each other’s lifelines, kissing like they need each other to breathe.

“I never want to be without you,” she mutters. “I know I hurt you, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I want a future with you. I’ve never even thought of a future before you.”

Toby strokes her hair, holding her just as close. “We can still have a future,” Toby says, to himself as much as to Happy. “We can. We just have some – hurdles to jump in the present.”

Happy nods. “You sabotage when you’re happy, right?” she says.

“Yup,” he replies. “I’m working on that, though.”

“I think I do that, too,” Happy sighs. “Let’s try to stop doing that.”

Toby laughs. “Deal.”


	3. Putting the Pieces Together

Nobody asks them why they stay late at the garage crowded around one of their computers, talking quietly. Occasionally their conversations grow loudly enough for one of the other members of Scorpion to look up quizzically, but they mostly leave Happy and Toby alone.

On cases, on jobs, Happy and Toby work more in tune than ever. Toby’s lost some of his playfulness, he knows that, but he’s okay with it. It’ll come back. There are just other things on his mind right now.

They’re in the van driving home from a case, two weeks after that failed proposal. Happy's asleep on his shoulder when Paige turns to him and asks, “So, what’s going on with you two?” She looks genuinely interested, concern a veil behind her eyes.

“Meaning?” Toby asks. He knows their conversation won’t be overheard by Cabe, Sylvester, and Walter – they’re all toward the front of the van, discussing the earlier case. The only reason Happy is asleep is because she almost drowned – again. Toby needs to ask Sly about the odds of that happening so frequently, because it’s getting ridiculous.

“Are you guys together?” she asks. “Engaged? Dating?” She lowers her voice. “You are looking for her husband, right?”

Toby nods. “We’re still together,” Toby replies. “But I think the engagement is put on hold. There’s more important things.” He looks down at Happy and tries not laugh when she snores a little bit. “We’re taking care of the husband thing first.”

“Good move,” Paige says, nodding. “If you guys need any help, just tell me, okay?”

Toby smiles at her. “Thanks, Paige,” he says.

He’s silent the rest of the ride, exchanging smiles with Paige every once in a while.

When they get to the garage, Happy wakes up.

“Back to work?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

Toby nods. “Back to work.”

~

Three months. It takes three months, all of May and June and July.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day, sweltering in the garage but a dry heat that just means Happy’s standing around in a skimpy tank top that’s distracting Toby from the profiling that Homeland has asked him to do.

They’ve fallen back into their normal pattern and then some. She stopped flinching when Toby told her he loved her a month after the proposal, and she told him she loves him a month after that. Happy’s apologized at least once a day for three months, and a month before Toby had moved into her apartment after she'd asked him with a grin on her lips. Toby wakes up next to her every morning, her apartment now theirs, and she’s let him into her heart in ways he’s never expected.

So much has changed in these three moths while they’ve waited to find Happy’s husband. But the next step hangs over Toby’s head like a cloud. Until they find Happy’s husband, they can’t move forward. They’ve stagnated.

Toby’s signing off on a report that, yes, the man who tried to bomb three malls does match up with the profile of a man who would try to bomb three malls in revenge of getting fired from his position as a security guard, when Happy makes an astonished gasp.

“What?” Toby says, signing the paper. “What’s wrong?”

Happy looks over at Toby. “I found him.”

Toby gets up without a word and looks over her shoulder at the picture of the man Happy Quinn once married. He’s shorter than Toby had imagined, a white guy only a couple inches taller than Happy. He’s got a tattoo on his arm, something that looks like the beginning of a sleeve, and he’s wearing a short sleeved button down. His hair is cut close to his scalp, but even so Toby can tell he’s blonde.

“Your husband is a blonde?” Toby asks, incredulous.

Happy glares at him. “That’s what you’re focusing on.”

“Yes,” Toby says, nodding, “that and the fact that he’s way shorter than I am.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “I have a million ways you’re better than he is, number one being you’ve never tried to break a plate over my skull. Can we continue?”

Toby looks at her in abject horror. “What did you just say?”

Happy sighs. “Look, Toby, I get it. You’re a jealous and you know it's stupid so you're making jokes. But I think you’re underestimating just how bad it was – you don’t need to talk about how much better you are." The look in her eyes is incredibly old - knowing in a way Toby's not sure he can wrap his mind around. "Let it go.”

Toby feels his face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands – he wants to hold her, touch her, reassure her that nobody will ever hurt her again. That he’ll take care of her, even though he knows she can take care of herself.

Happy turns in her chair and rests her head against Toby’s shoulder, and he takes the cue to wrap his arm around her.

“I’d practically forgotten what he’d looked like,” she says quietly. “Not so pleased I remember now.”

Toby rests his chin on the top of her head, rubbing her arm. “So we found him,” he says. “Let’s get him out of your life for good, okay?”

“Caught him on surveillance right outside of LA,” she says. “Two hour drive, maybe three if there’s traffic.”

“I’m going with you,” Toby says.

Happy sits up. “What?”

“You need a witness,” Toby assures her. “And we’ll bring Heywood, too. We need somebody with legal experience there to make sure it all goes as planned. I don’t want any loopholes.” He nods to the stack of papers they'd gotten together the week they'd moved in together - the divorce papers that would set Happy free.

Happy’s defenses are up for just a little too long, just long enough to make Toby worry that she isn’t seeing that he’s coming to help, not to baby her, and then the defenses fall. “Okay,” she says. “That works.” She leans back against him. “This is going to be rough.”

“We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” Toby says quietly, stroking her hair. “We can go home.”

Happy nods. “It’s almost five,” she replies. “I don’t think Walter would mind.”

“I wouldn’t care,” Toby replies.

Happy sits up and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. He watches as she ties her hair up, unable to resist running his hand along the skin of her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asks, tiny smile on her lips.

“Sometimes I like to remind myself that you chose me,” he says quietly.

“I always will,” Happy says resolutely.

In bed that night, Toby watches Happy sleep calmly. Her nightmares had stopped, but she’s mumbling again like she used to. He’s worried about what might happen next, if the terror is about to leave her mouth in a scream.

She rolls over, still asleep, and rolls right into Toby. She’s shouting before she’s awake, flailing enough that Toby has to catch her wrists in his hands to keep her from hurting him or herself.

“Happy, it’s me,” Toby says, keeping his voice calm. “You’re safe. You’re at home. It’s Toby.”

Her eyes fly open and she looks wild for a moment, and Toby’s half convinced she’s going to stay violent.

But then she relaxes and goes limp, staring at him in horror.

“Toby,” she says, her voice a mixture of reverence and horror, “oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, shifting so he’s holding her hands. She’s freezing. “I’m safe. You’re safe. Are you okay?”

She nods, shaking slightly. “I’d forgotten all of that,” she says quietly. “I didn’t remember how – how bad it was. Not until I saw him again.”

“Come here,” Toby murmurs, and Happy curls into his arms, into his lap. She fits in his arms like they were built to be together. Toby kisses the top of her head, trying to warm her up. “You’re okay.”

Happy nods. “I know,” she says, and she’s still so cold. “But I wasn’t for so long.”

Toby picks up their comforter and wraps it around them, holding them closer together. “Do you want to talk about it?” he chances.

She’s still and quiet for a moment, so much so that Toby thinks she might have dozed off again.

“He never hit me,” she finally says. “But he threw a lot of things, and aimed them at me. I learned how to dodge them, but it took a while.” She pulls the blanket around them more tightly. “And there were – threats,” she adds. “Those were worse. Because I never knew if he was going to make the threats a reality.”

Toby holds her tight. “It’s not going to happen again,” he promises, and he hears her yawn. “Never. That’s a promise.”

“I know,” Happy says. “I never thought otherwise.”

Toby kisses her forehead. “I love you.”

She nods against his chest. “I love you too.”

They wake up late the next morning. Toby thinks Happy may have thrown his phone across the room again, but he doesn’t mind. They’re tangled in the blankets, wrapped up in each other, and Happy’s holding him tightly.

“Hi,” she says, looking up at him.

“How long have you been up?” Toby asks.

Happy shrugs. “Couple minutes. I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked comfortable.”

Toby laughs. “I mean, I was. I always am when you’re getting your cuddle on.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “You say the weirdest things.”

Toby gets up and calls Walter, telling him that he and Happy are taking the day off, and he falls back into bed next to Happy. They spend the morning talking and kissing, soft and sweet and more innocent than anything they’ve done before, because they both know what they’ll be doing the second they step out of bed.

Eventually, they’ve run out of time to put off reality. It’s time to get this over with.

Heywood got the paperwork together ages ago, back in June when they told the whole team what their plans were. Happy calls him and he promises to show up.

Happy exhales. “I can’t believe he’s working at another garage,” she sighs. “Is it weird that I’m focusing on it? I taught him everything he knows.” She leans back in her chair. "He's probably doing all the repairs I taught him, only I'd do it better than he does."

They run Sylvester’s facial recognition, and Happy falls back on the bed in shock when she sees the name Jeff is going by now.

“Christopher – Christopher Parks,” she says, looking horrified. “He’s using my old last name.”

Toby doesn’t know what it means. He knows what he’d say it means in any other situation, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“A lot of people use a combination of names they knew in the past to make fake names,” Toby says, making it up as he goes. “Like how people use other people’s birthdays or anniversaries as passwords, because they think it’ll keep them safer.”

Happy nods. “Yeah, stop using my birthday as your phone lock code.”

Toby sighs. “That didn’t take long for you to figure out.”

She’s smiling again when she looks at him. “No, it didn’t.”

They’ve got everything together by three in the afternoon, and Heywood knocks on their door.

“Are you ready?” he asks. His suit is surprisingly well tailored and expensive looking. Toby hopes Heywood looks fancy enough to intimidate Happy’s husband.

Happy looks up at Toby, who nods back at her.

“Yeah,” Happy replies, exhaling. “Yeah, I think we are.”

It’s the longest two and a half hours of Toby’s life. Heywood yammers along in the back seat about anything that seems to pop into his mind, while Happy sits silently and punches at the radio whenever she doesn’t like a song. Toby’s playing with his phone, twirling it in his hands to keep his mind occupied.

And that’s when he sees it – the garage they’d found registered under Jeff’s assumed name. The name Christopher Parks.

Happy stops in her tracks in the driveway, and Toby sees why a split second later.

There he is: her husband, blonde, short hair and a terrible tattoo. This time he’s wearing a white tank top, streaked with grease.

Toby fights the impulse to push Happy behind him. Knowing what Jeff did to her, knowing how he hurt her, shatters him.

But he knows Happy can handle herself. And, if anybody’s going to need protection, it might be Jeff.

“Let’s do this,” she says firmly. She walks over to her husband, stalks over to him, more, with a determination Toby’s never seen before.

“Jeff,” she says firmly.

And the realization on his face is pure shock.

Toby hasn’t seen Happy look this hard and cold since the day he slept through their date, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrow. She's a little terrified. He kind of loves it.

“Elizabeth,” the man says, looking disbelieving. “Lizzie, what are you –”

Happy winces at the nickname. “Don’t – don’t call me that,” she replies. “Look, you’ve got to know why I’m here.”

He sets down the hammer. “No,” he says carefully. “I really don’t.”

Happy pulls the papers out of her bag. “We should have done this a long time ago.”

Jeff stares at the papers in shock. “You leave for ten years and this is what you come back with?”

Happy rolls her eyes. “Please, like you give a damn.”

He scoffs. “You’re the one who up and ran,” Jeff says, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, but I came back and you weren’t here,” Happy fires back. Toby watches her calm herself down. “Look, it’s over. It’s been over for years – more than a decade.” She shoves the divorce papers close to him, and Toby tries not to get too nervous. Heywood is standing next to him, looking very much the professional lawyer, somehow. “It’s been over for longer than it wasn’t. Just sign.”

Jeff looks over at Toby. “Who’s he?”

Toby looks at Happy. He’s not talking right now. He would probably just make it worse.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she says pointedly. “Sign.”

“Why should I?” Jeff asks. He rests against the table, leaning too close to Happy for comfort. But Toby stays where he is.

Happy’s dangerous expression grows stronger. She plants her hands on the table and leans in. “Because you know what I can do to you if you don’t.”

To Toby, the threat sounds empty. Happy’s got a lot going for her, but he’s fairly certain she’s above murder. She won’t even kill spiders in their shower – she puts them outside the window while Toby pretends he's not freaked out.

Jeff, on the other hand, doesn’t seem so sure. He leans away. “You know, leaving this family could have gotten you killed,” he says, and it could be a threat if Happy didn’t look so unamused. “You got out without any consequences. You’re lucky.”

“Shut up and take the pen,” she snaps back.

He shrugs. “Maybe I still love you,” he grins, something slimy behind it. “Maybe I want to give us another go.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “I couldn’t find you for years. And you never looked for me. This was over when we were teenagers, Jeff.”

There’s a war of silence between the two of them that Toby can barely decode. It’s full of ancient history, ancient pain, and a universe that he doesn’t understand. Happy has never looked like this - some combination of rage and long forgotten history written across her face.

Toby starts counting. It’s three minutes and twelve seconds before anybody makes a move.

Without another word, Jeff takes the pen and signs the bottom of the papers. “I hope you’re happy, Liz,” he says. “Because this could come back to bite you one day.”

Happy scoffs. “Try me.”

Toby’s not as confident as Happy – he knows there are people who could do some horrible things without thinking twice – but he trusts her. If she thinks they’re going to win in this, he believes her.

“Well, thank you,” says Heywood, looking bizarrely pleased. “We will be on our way. Toby, if you could sign as witness.”

Toby nods and signs his name.

“Alright,” Heywood says, clapping his hands together. “Off we go.” He practically runs out of there.

“Until next time, Lizzie Parks,” Jeff says, a bit of venom behind his eyes.

Happy shakes her head. “There is no next time.”

By the time Happy slides into the driver’s seat, she’s shaking so badly she can’t hold the steering wheel.

“Hap, are you alright?” Toby asks, resting his hand on her shoulder. She flinches.

“Sorry,” she says. She takes a couple deep breathes. “I’m fine.”

Toby doesn’t quite believe her, but he waits until they’ve dropped Heywood off at the courthouse to finish up the paperwork, until they’re sitting in Happy’s apartment’s parking lot, before he brings it up again.

“Are you still fine?” he asks.

That’s when Happy throws the car in park, unbuckles her seatbelt, and climbs into Toby’s lap. “No,” she manages. She makes herself tiny, resting her head on his chest. “I’m really not.”

Toby wraps his arms around her, holding her tight. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Happy, it’s over. He signed. The divorce is going to be finalized by tomorrow – Heywood’s taking care of everything.” She’s still shaking. “Happy, talk to me.”

“I tried to forget what he did, what they did,” she mumbles. “But, Toby, they were terrifying. Any dissent, any argument. And you’re out of luck.” Her hands grab at his waist, and he can feel how cold they are through his shirt. “They didn’t like the tiny, young girl being smarter than them.”

He doesn’t want to press – won’t press – but he somehow wants to know what she survived so he can help her.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “You’re okay now.”

They sit there for more than an hour, holding onto each other.

“Want to know the good news?” Toby says, once Happy’s shaking has subsided and her body’s warmed up again.

“Sure,” she replies, sitting up.

He pushes her hair out of her face, unable to hold back his smile. “It means you could say yes next time I ask.”

Her face falls for a split second, and it feels like somebody drove a knife through his heart.

“No!” Happy says, registering his expression. “That’s a good thing! No, it’s just,” she smiles at him, “I wanted to ask you next time.” She settles her hand on his cheek and he leans into the touch. “You deserve it.”

Toby grins. “Really?”

Happy nods.

“Am I going to get a ring?” he teases, running his fingers through her hair.

She shrugs, smiling down at him. “I’ll come up with something.”


	4. The Pieces Fit Again

Toby’s passed out on his desk. Today is definitely going to be the last time he has to deal with almost drowning. It has to be.

There’s only so many times one can almost drown in a lifetime.

His dreams are a combination of crashing oceans and water spouts spinning around him, and he wakes with a start when he hears an unexpected crash.

“What’s up?” he asks, his hat falling off his head. “What’s happening?”

Before he’s fully awake, he scans the room, taking in everything before his gaze settles on Happy. She’s over by the piano, dressed in a dark purple tank top. It’s incredibly warm for September, too warm, but Toby wonders if she’s wearing that shirt because she knows how much he likes it and not just because of the heat. The jeans don’t suck, either.

He sighs. There’s something about the way Happy looks when she doesn’t think anybody’s paying attention to her. Relaxed and comfortable, she leans against the side of the piano with just enough attitude that Toby’s sure she wouldn’t have looked at him twice if they weren’t in the Cyclone together. Their entire relationship, Toby’s felt Happy’s out of his league. But now, looking at her, he thinks that doesn’t matter anymore. She loves him, and he loves her, and he’s going to explode if there isn’t a proposal sometime soon. He’s got a second one planned – inside her motorcycle helmet, it’s not his best work – but he really wants her to do it, because she said she wanted to.

But Toby will wait as long as he needs to. As long as he’s got Happy, he’s, well, happy.

And then he gets a look at Paige’s face where she’s standing next to her desk, excitement written all over her smile.

“The hell’s going on?” Toby asks. He crams his hat back on his head as he yawns, walking over to Happy. “What crashed?”

“The piano,” Paige says, looking giddy.

Happy looks at her pointedly.

“Sorry,” Paige adds, not looking it.

Sylvester, Walter, and Cabe are standing near the piano.

“Guys,” Toby asks. He’s half prepared to hear somebody’s died. “What’s going on?”

Instead, Happy grins at him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Toby replies, suspiciously. And he asks it again. “What’s going on?”

Happy pulls out the piano bench. “Haven’t figured it out yet?”

Toby frowns. “I’m still half asleep.”

“Wake up and smell the piano keys, Doc,” laughs Cabe.

And then Happy starts playing the piano.

“When did this happen?” he asks, bewildered. “You can’t play the piano.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “I’m full of surprises, Doc. Like this one.”

It’s got an echo of the song he sang to Happy, an underlying harmony, but the melody and lyrics are deliberately different, as if to say this had better get a different ending.

A long time ago, they had a discussion about how Happy can’t sing. Toby argued, trying to convince her that she had to have a nice voice if he liked listening to her talk so much.

This is the moment he realizes just how wrong he was.

She’s out of tune, the piano trying to guide her to the right notes, but she loses each one as she goes. She’s so off key he can’t tell if she’s sharp or flat, and the best part of the song is when she’s laughing to herself as she plays out complicated harmonies.

“Okay, I concede!” Toby laughs. “I agree. You can’t sing.” He feels his cheeks turn pink. “But I liked it when you rhymed ‘Toby’ with ‘roby.’”

Happy shrugs. “I figured it was better than the time you rhymed ‘happy’ with ‘Happy.’ Plus,” she says, grinning, “I still steal that robe all the time.

“I also liked the attempted rhyme in, ‘You started at Harvard, I started with car parts.’ Now that,” he points at her, “was clever.”

“You know what’s happening yet?” she asks, standing up.

He nods. “What took you so long?” Toby asks, his heart racing. “I mean, you’ve been divorced nearly two months.” He lets himself smile. “I was getting worried you were going to make me ask again.”

Happy glares at him. “Shut up,” she says. “I had to make it perfect.” She nods to Paige. “She helped.”

Toby tries not to look too giddy as he looks over to Paige. “Thank you!”

Paige grins at him and holds Walter’s hand so tightly that Toby’s pretty sure Walter is wincing, just a tiny bit.

“Last time,” Happy pokes at a couple keys on the piano, “it ended badly. Because of me.” She looks down, scuffing her heels against the ground. “But we fixed it.” She looks up and the smile on her face makes Toby’s heart stutter. “Toby, I told you I wanted to do this the next time, and I am. Because I can.” She gets down on one knee, looking comically small, and looks up at him. Happy pulls out a ring box from underneath the piano. “Toby Curtis, I’ve loved you since I can’t remember when and I’m gonna love you until I can’t forget how.” She’s smiling brightly, something Toby hopes he can memorize. “Will you marry me?”

“I can’t,” Toby says, grinning down at her. “I’m already married to the spider plant I keep in our bedroom.”

Happy rolls her eyes and groans. “Seriously? You’re joking now?”

“Yes,” Toby laughs, kneeling down so that he can be closer to Happy, “I’ll marry you, yes.” He leans in and kisses her, hearing the cheers from Paige, Walter, Cabe, and Sylvester, while Ralph runs to the piano and smacks something hard.

And that’s when Toby is hit with confetti.

Toby rests his forehead against Happy’s. “You loaded the freakin’ confetti gun.”

“Hey, if I was going to do it,” she says with a grin, “I was going to do it right.”

She slides the ring on his hand, an exact match minus the stone to the one he tried to give her five months ago. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he sighs. Then he stands up, pulling Happy with him. Paige and Walter are grinning with their arms around each other, and Sly is playing with the bandaid ring, probably the ninetieth incarnation at this point, around his finger. Cabe’s clapping with the biggest smile on his face. Ralph, however, has the sunniest grin as he gives Toby two thumbs up.

“Thank god this proposal didn’t end like the last one,” Cabe says. “I’m not sure we could have handled another mess.”

Toby kisses Happy quickly, just enough to distract her when he darts away to his desk. “I’ve been keeping this puppy safe for months now.” He pulls out the original ring, the one he’d meant to give to Happy weeks and weeks ago. He holds it out to her. “Thoughts?”

She plucks it out of the box and slides it on her finger. “We match.”

“That we do.”

Paige picks up the confetti and throws it at them.

“What are you doing?” Happy sputters, spitting out a pile of confetti that had landed in her mouth. “That stuff was on the floor!”

Paige’s smile is so sunny that it’s practically blinding. Then Toby realizes what really blinded him was her phone’s camera flash.

“Are you taking pictures?” Happy asks, putting her hand out in front of the camera. “Quit it!”

“Deal with it,” Paige says authoritatively. “Even if you won’t want picture of your engagement, I will.” She waves her hand. “Get together.”

Toby looks at Happy. “To make Paige happy,” he says, with a shrug. He notices confetti in her hair, and is thrown back to the last time he saw a shining piece of confetti tangled in Happy’s curls – it’s such a different feeling, in such a good way.

There’s another flash, and Paige awes. “Guys, that’s the cutest picture I’ve ever seen of you guys!”

Happy rolls her eyes. “There are no pictures of us.”

“Then it’s not a hard bar to meet, then, is it?” Paige asks. “Come here, look.”

Toby looks over Paige’s shoulder at the picture, and he swears he can feel his heart skip a beat. He’s gazing at Happy with this smitten expression while she looks up at him with content amusement. It’s impossible to tell what Toby’s really doing from the picture, so Toby’s gesture of reaching out to take confetti out of Happy’s hair looks like a gentle caress.

“Goddamn, we’re cute,” Toby says.

Happy shrugs. “I mean, duh.” Happy glances up at him. “Want to put that picture on the fridge?”

“You want to decorate the refrigerator?” Toby asks, trying not to be too excited. “We’re doing this? That’s the kind of couple we are?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Happy insists. But Paige texts the picture to Happy and Toby, and both of them immediately make it their background photos on their phones.

“You like me,” Toby singsongs. “You put me as your phone background. You like me.”

“We’re engaged, moron,” Happy says with an eye roll.

They decide to go out to dinner, but Toby holds back, catching Happy’s hand before she leaves with the group. They’re alone in the garage, in the silence, and Toby needs to talk to her.

Happy turns back to him. “What are you –”

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Toby says. “But I need to say something first.”

Happy frowns. “Am I going to like this?”

Toby smiles. “I’m in love with you,” he says, “more than I can say.”

Happy raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? You say that practically every day.”

Toby shakes his head, brushing a lock of hair over Happy’s shoulder, his fingertips lingering as he grazes her skin. “That’s not all. You better prepare yourself for the best sex of your life tonight.”

Happy’s cheeks turn pink. “What?”

Toby grins. “I just got engaged,” he says, leaning in. He’s sure to kiss her the way that makes her melt, swallowing the sigh in the back of her throat. “I’ve got to channel this excitement somehow.”

Happy grabs the front of his shirt, pulls him in, and holds him for a kiss that makes his head spin. They jump apart when they hear the door swing open.

“Get to the van, love birds!” Paige shouts from outside. “Or we’re leaving without you!”

Happy steps away, looking a little breathless and pink in the cheeks. “Better keep good on that promise, Doc.”

“Oh,” Toby says, taking her hand as they walk out of the garage, “I will.”

It’s a restaurant they’ve been to a million times before, but it feels different.

Toby can’t wipe the smile off his face as Happy squishes him against the booth, Ralph sliding in next to her.

“How come I’m stuck with the lovebirds?” Ralph asks, eyeing Toby and Happy warily.

“The other option would be sitting next to your mom and Walter,” Cabe says. “You want to trade?”

Ralph shakes his heads. “I’ll take engaged over my mom,” he says, wincing.

Toby’s struck by the normalcy of the meal: Walter, steadfastly refusing any alcohol and instead drinking his fourth cup of coffee that day. Happy’s got a beer in front of her, something imported and fancy that she won’t let Toby steal a sip of. Paige and Toby each have Cosmopolitans in front of them, Cabe has a Bud Light, and Ralph and Sylvester both have Sprites.

Years ago, Toby would have looked at these people like puzzles, brains and behaviors to figure out and analyze before he would interact with them. Today, they’re playing trivial pursuit with the 80’s cards on the table. Paige is annihilating everyone in the pop culture category, but Toby’s killing it with any medical questions. Sylvester’s got every other category, closely followed by Ralph.

Happy and Walter, for once in their lives, don’t seem to be too invested in the competition. Toby thinks that might be because they don’t want to admit they might lose at something.

But they’re all talking and laughing like Toby used to see in restaurants as a kid, when he’d be trying to convince his mother not to drink her fourth glass of wine or desperately trying to talk to his father about anything but gambling. The families who looked happy and loving. And Toby has that now.

The next thought hits him like a train: Toby could build an even bigger family with Happy. They could be parents someday. Toby could be a dad.

He chokes on his cheeseburger.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Happy says, thumping Toby on the back until he can breathe again. “Nobody’s going to take it away from you.”

Toby sips his water, then his Cosmopolitan, trying to steady himself.

“You good?” Happy asks.

Toby doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful, giving him that half-exasperated half-besotted look with his ring on her finger.

“Yeah,” he says, with the thoughts of a tiny baby with Happy’s smile and his personality running around their apartment, “I’m good.”

Happy raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He leans in and kisses her temple, despite the restaurant, despite the team. “I’m marrying you,” he whispers, just loudly enough that only Happy can hear, “I couldn’t be better.”


End file.
